


Veleth Alfirin (Love Immortal)

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2005-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:46:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3852974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Epic saga/drama/romance/parallel story to The Hobbit/LOTR (timeline wise). OFC's life and times, a Mary Sue with a difference - well, I like to think so. Estelio nin...<br/>oh, and there's some nice Orc-bashing moments for those who like violence, and a bit of elf-smut for those who get off on Legolas getting it off...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

My life changed the day they finally mustered the courage to follow me into the forest.

For a long time it had been my sanctuary, my refuge from torment, for the fear of dark things kept them from daring its borders. I had never known any darkness in that place. It seemed to embrace my presence as if I belonged there, and in safety I played among the trees and undergrowth, talking to no one but instinctively sensing someone was there listening all the same. Under the protective cover of Mirkwood’s canopy, I felt safe to be myself.

It is hard for a child to grow up different. All along I had stood out from the rest of Tawar-Edrain’s children in that I was the likeness of an Elf-child, not Mannish. My mother’s mother was Elven-kind, though my mother herself possessed no Elvish attribute save her unusual beauty, treasured among the mortals, and especially by my father. And then there is the matter of my grandfather, my father’s sire. My paternal grandmother must have endured much scorn and derision from her peers when her son was born fatherless, and she would not name the father. Only on her deathbed did she confide in her young son the reason why she had never said a word about his father. She said he was Istari, a “blue wizard”, and though he loved her, he could not stay with her. My father, too, seemed not to have inherited my grandfather’s blood, but his good heart, wisdom and foresight must surely be that legacy.

So it seems the full extent of the ancestry had combined itself in me, Edhelanna, named “elf-gift” by my mother, for so I appeared to be in a house of Men. Fairer than the other village children and wiser than my years, it was difficult to find friends among them as I grew up on the fringes of Mirkwood. My village, Tawar-Edrain, lay but a few leagues west of Lake Esgaroth. I had only been born a year after the dragon Smaug smote Lake-town, yet the tales of this deed and the ensuing Battle of Five Armies had become as legend already. Village boys recreated these feats daily in their play, and battle-scarred veterans regaled wide-eyed young ones with many first-hand accounts from those very conflicts. This is how, by the age of eight, I came to hear of the Elven-king and his army. Knowing that people more akin to me lived somewhere in the forests behind our village drew me to seek answers to my many questions there.

I have not yet outlined why I lived in Tawar-Edrain under duress. It was the dreams, you see. They began when I was ten years old, so real and so vivid that I appeared to be a spectator in a living occurrence. When they began to trouble my sleep so much I could no longer bear the thought of bedtime, I decided I could not keep them to myself. I told my mother of these dreams, and she dismissed them at first as childish and a product of my imaginings. Yet when things I had dreamt actually came to pass, my mother took more notice of my “visions”. She was the village medicine woman, having extensive lore of herbs and human susceptibilities and, as such, consulted by all in our village in matters of physical and mental health. After I began recounting my dreams to my mother, particularly if they involved a harmful outcome for the person in them, she took to giving these people indirect counsel so they may avoid meeting this danger. For a long while, my mother and I worked together to protect the people in our village from avoidable hazards.

Then I made the mistake of falling under provocation, and telling someone myself of a dream in which he would suffer a hurt. The older boys in the village would mercilessly tease me about my Elven ears and tweak them at every opportunity. One fateful day, I had been particularly annoyed at one lad, Brêg, who seemed to relish provoking me. I had told my mother of a recent dream that he would fall from his pony and break his leg, and my mother was conspiring to consult his mother into cautioning her son to have a care when riding. After enduring what seemed an eternity of “pointy ear” taunts and tweaks, I furiously rounded on Brêg and told him that I hoped he fell off his pony and broke his leg very soon so that he could stop his teasing. The next day he fell. He began to blather that I had “bewitched” him into falling. So began the torment of being labelled “Elf-witch” and the sudden mistrust that some villagers began to foster about me.

I first discovered my forest sanctuary as I escaped from Brêg, whose leg was long mended by then. Brêg and his cronies chased me, hurling taunts and invective, but I managed to outpace them. As I fled into the ever-darkening green of Mirkwood’s outer edge, I noticed my assailants gave up pursuit at the beginning of the tree line, content to shout how I would be eaten by foul creatures within the forest and they’d be rid of the Elf-witch at last. I wove and darted among fallen timber and brush, finally running down a long, gently inclined semblance of a trail. Ahead of me was a stand of ancient trees which seem to have created a circle of light amid the darkness by growing outward more than upward near the centre. A semicircular ridge of rocks rose on one side of the copse and seemed to enfold the trees in a granite embrace. I raced into the circle of light, breathing heavily, tears half-dried upon my face, and dropped into the cushion of leaves there. The sobs came soon after as I let my anger and distress wash over me.

I don’t know how long I lay there crying, yet after I had spent my tears I felt that, somehow, the trees seemed closer to me than they had when I arrived. When my sobs had subsided, I discerned other sounds around me: a small chirrup from a passing bird and, most welcome of all sounds, the gurgling of a nearby stream as it cascaded merrily over stones along its path. I walked over to the stream and scooped up handfuls of its crystalline water to drink and wash my tear-stained face. Not all sounds I heard there were familiar. Amid the creaks and rustlings of the copse’s wind-swept boughs I heard something which sounded like low rumblings. They seemed to come from the within the very trees themselves. I heard other sounds; soft footsteps followed by a pause, a twang and a scream of pain. I became agitated, thinking I had been followed after all. I quickly hid among some bushes and rock near the base of the ridge. Trying to breathe quietly, I waited for what seemed an hour. When nothing else happened, I peeked out from my hiding place, and returned to the copse. I looked around for the cause of the strange sounds, but whatever they were or whatever created them had long gone. A sense of extreme relaxation flowed over me and I felt protected and safe in this place. I vowed I would return again tomorrow, for it was getting late and my parents would be worried if I tarried here any longer. I rested my hand against the nearest tree as if to affirm my vow. I felt a strange reluctance to leave, as if I had made friends at last, yet nobody was present save myself.

That night I had a dream which I told no one of, as the person at the heart of it was not from our village. He was an Elf; tall, immeasurably fair of face and golden haired, dressed in the colours of the forest. He appeared in the copse, looking this way and that, a bow in his hand and an arrow ready to fire at any hint of danger. A hideous face loomed up over the ridge, yet the Elf flinched not and released his arrow into the foul creature’s eye. A scream issued from the beast and it fell back behind the ridge. _I recognised that scream._ The Elf looked around the copse, another arrow nocked almost as soon as the first was launched, his sapphire eyes keenly scanning for any more of the menacing creatures. Satisfied that danger no longer threatened, he lowered the bow and smiled. Oh, a smile that melted my heart with its sweetness! I awoke then, wondering who he was, and yet somehow knowing him. He would be a guardian presence in the forest every time I was there.


	2. Chapter 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epic saga/drama/romance/parallel story to The Hobbit/LOTR (timeline wise). OFC's life and times, a Mary Sue with a difference - well, I like to think so. Estelio nin...

I kept my promise the next day, returning to that part of the forest I now called my own safe haven. Remembering the dream, I began a tentative exploration around the perimeter of the copse, half fearing to encounter that foul beast of my dreams, half hoping to encounter the Elf. It seemed as if nothing was stirring today, not even a birdsong to comfort the sighing of the boughs under a leaden sky. Despite the seeming gloom of the day, the trees in my copse appeared to glow as if softly lit from within. I gazed upward, marvelling at how the leaves and branches intertwined almost lovingly to form an intricate woven ceiling, thinning towards the centre to allow light’s passage to the forest floor.

I lay my hand upon the trunk of the tree nearest me – no rough bark here, but smoothness like rocks long polished in a fast running river. I smiled, and in a moment of sheer joy I wrapped both arms around the tree as far as I could reach, resting my cheek against the cool, smooth trunk. Suddenly I heard a soft rumbling close to my ear. Startled, I released the tree and backed away, thinking something fell was nearby preparing to attack me. I looked around fearfully, backing up against the tree. The soft rumble sounded again when my body touched the tree. I started again, not knowing which way would provide me the best escape. I suddenly felt a moment of irrational anger. _How dare someone invade my copse._ If those boys had finally acquired the gumption to follow me into the forest, then they would not find a whimpering child. I picked up a fallen branch, tearing away the smaller twigs and dead leaves to fashion a rude club. I brandished it in as threatening a manner a thirteen-year-old girl-child could muster.

“Try and harm me if you dare, and risk the wrath of an Elf-witch!” I growled, feigning possession of a power I had not. It seemed the low rumble turned into a low chuckle. I was so surprised by this alteration in tone that I took a step backward and tripped over an exposed tree-root. I tumbled gracelessly into a pile of dried leaves, dropping my “club”, which caused another, louder rumbling laugh. I stared, astonished and speechless, watching the tree in front of me shake with mirth. As I continued to gape upwards, two indentations on the trunk “opened” up and a pair of golden eyes met mine. One solitary sound escaped my open mouth, a croaking gasp which threatened to become a high-pitched scream, if I could only unlock my frozen mind long enough to form it. The “tree” leaned over me, and the scream died before it was born. I scrambled backwards, terrified but unable to release my gaze from the golden eyes now focused on me and drawing nearer.

I began to babble mindlessly, “Oh, I’m so sorry...I didn’t mean it...really...I’m not an Elf-witch at all...I’m not even an Elf...I don’t think so...and I wanted...I thought you were...I wasn’t...I didn’t...I ...” and trailed off into a wide-eyed silence as that sylvan “face” neared mine. I realised after a moment that those glowing eyes appeared wise and kindly, as old as time itself. Fascinated now rather than frightened, I reached a tentative hand out to touch what could be taken as the creature’s nose, and it gave that rumbling sigh I’d heard when I first hugged it.

“It has been a very long time since creatures of good heart passed this way.”

Startled by the low deep raspy voice, I quickly withdrew my hand as if stung... _it talks._

“A talking tree?” I whispered softly.

“Not a tree, little Elfling. I am an Ent,” the “tree” said.

“Ent? What is an Ent?”

“I suppose you can say we are the guardians of the trees in this forest, and all the forests of Middle Earth,” he explained.

“Do you have a name? Mine is Edhelanna.” I offered my hand instinctively, then stopped half-way when I realised what a foolish gesture it seemed.

“I am called Brethil, the Silver Birch.”

“Have you been in this forest for a very long time, Brethil?” I asked. “Why is it that Ents are not known by Men and Elves? Are there many of your kind in this forest? Have you seen any…”

Brethil’s branches shook as another rumbling laugh issued forth. “You speak with much haste, little one, and ask many questions. I will answer all....in time...hoom...for time it is I have and have had for a very long time...” and another deep chuckle rocked his branches as his jest surfaced.

_So I have indeed found a friend in the forest._

From that day on, I spent every afternoon in the forest, after my duties to my mother were complete. In fact, she took advantage of my forays to ask if I would gather fresh herbs for her medicinal stocks on many occasions. She began to impart her knowledge of herbal lore to me, pleased that I showed aptitude and skill in healing and potions, thus preparing me to eventually take her place as the village medicine woman.

Brethil did not come to the copse every day, for he had large tracts of Mirkwood to manage, yet I did not feel alone even when he was not close at hand. I still felt a “presence” in the forest, unseen, yet comforting. I often thought about the Elf of my dream, and wondered why I had no further dreams of him. My dreams of late had been fewer and no danger presented itself to folk in my village. Even my mother noted how few accidents had occurred that summer, as if the whole village were under some unseen protection.

During extensive explorations of the surroundings of my copse that autumn, I had discovered a small niche under an overhanging rock in the ridge. There I contrived my own “treasure cave” of found objects gathered on my frequent excursions: a perfectly rounded rock as black as night, other coloured stones and acorns, a collection of multi-coloured bird feathers. There also did I keep a small hidebound book, quill and inkpot. I wrote my own lore and thoughts, and stories that Brethil told me of the old forests and of changes wrought throughout the long years of his seemingly ageless life. I also pressed wild flowers between the pages, and the scent of some would transfer to the parchment. On those pages I wrote my secret thoughts about the Elf in my dream.

Many months passed, seasons changed. The winter chill kept me indoors more, but often it was for my mother that I stayed close to home. She had most need of my aid in those months when coughing, runny-nosed children were brought daily to us for curing, often by their coughing, runny-nosed parent or sibling. My mother thanked me for my diligence and assistance in gathering so many necessary herbs during the summer and fall, for it seemed that even the large quantities were dwindling rapidly, and spring could not come quickly enough.

I languished as the rains of early spring continued long beyond the normal pass, wishing to be free of the household and revel in the new spring growth of my copse. When the sun finally broke through in the spring of my fourteenth year, I raced off toward the forest in a wild burst of energy, finally free of the seemingly mortal shackles of winter. My long golden hair streaming behind me, I dashed down the slope toward my copse and stopped suddenly, transfixed. The sunlight slanting through the trees was a soft misty green which seemed to dance as the leaves swayed in the wind. It shimmered on new pale green leaves and, on the forest floor, a carpet of white, golden and pink flowers had replaced the red-gold leaves I’d left behind not a few months before. The trunks of the trees seemed to have been scrubbed clean, for they gleamed softly blue-white, dappled in the misty light. I remembered to breathe again.

I walked reverently into the centre of the copse, and spread my arms wide as if to embrace the world. I was home again.  
.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epic saga/drama/romance/parallel story to The Hobbit/LOTR (timeline wise). OFC's life and times, a Mary Sue with a difference - well, I like to think so. Estelio nin...

I had not seen Brethil in months. He was in the copse that day and I was elated to see him, for I was eager for news and stories of his wanderings in the deep woods. All summer he told me fabulous tales of strange creatures that dwelt in the forest depths, hidden in the impenetrable gloom; spiders of immense size, serpents, and of things called Orcs. Brethil spoke of these with much loathing in his words, as if they were vile beyond his ability to describe. I can only imagine them to be foul creatures indeed, for I had never seen one and never wished to if they roused in Brethil such vehemence. He informed me that the Orcs were becoming bolder, spreading ever further toward the edges of the forest, and that I must be wary and avoid being in the forest too late in the day. I laughed at his caution, "I have yet to encounter such vile creatures, and here I am safe, for I have you to protect me!" Throwing my arms around his trunk, I hugged him.  
   
"Hoom, hoom, yes little Elfling, while I am here I will keep you safe, as will the other one…"  
   
I looked questioningly up towards Brethil's eyes. "Other one? There is another Ent nearby? Will I meet him also?"  
   
"Hoom haroom, not an Ent, little one. An Elf."  
   
"An Elf? Here? Where? Where is he? Who is he?" and I darted to and fro excitedly trying to spy him. _Could it be the Elf of my dreams?_ I scarcely dared believe so.  
   
Brethil laughed in his deep rumbling way. "He is always near when you are in the forest, Elfling. He guards you against any harm, when I am not here with you. He came by this place many times during the winter, hoom, to see if you were here."  
   
My heart was racing. I was right. Even when Brethil was not with me, I had felt a presence in the forest, a protective presence! _My Elf._  
   
"Brethil, but why will he not show himself? Does he not wish to be known to me, or for me to know him? Why does he stay hidden from me?" I asked pitifully. _Oh, why will you not show yourself, for I know in my heart you are the one from my dream!_  
   
"That I do not know, little one," Brethil said, lowering his eyes. "It is difficult for me to understand the hearts and minds of you young creatures, such haste, such bright energy. It is like shafts of dazzling sunlight, hoom, yes. And, like sunlight looked upon for too long, one can be blinded and confounded by it. You must learn patience, little Elfling. Not everything happens the way you wish it to. There may be a purpose to which you are not yet privy to. Let all things unfold in their own time, hoom."  
   
I thought about Brethil's words, and they seemed to echo those of my elders. How difficult it was to be patient! I wanted to rail against those words, and opened my mouth to refute them. I paused and thought back to the day when my impatience and irritation almost brought me to harm. I remained silent in sullen recognition and resignation. Perhaps they were right after all. The time was not right. _But when will it be_? I thought miserably. Having learned of his existence, I was anxious to encounter my Elf and bring to fruition that which I thought was only a dream. _How long must I wait? How long?_  
   
Brethil was not there next day when I returned, so I amused myself by visiting my "treasure cave". It had not been touched by winter's hand, or any woodland creature. Or so it seemed at first.  
   
I retrieved my book and writing implements, thinking of committing yesterday's dialogues with Brethil to parchment. I opened to the last written page and inhaled sharply. A flower, unlike any from the forest, lay pressed within the pages. It was faded and flattened, but must have been a most beautiful shade of red. And the scent of it, sweeter than any herb or flower I knew. But where had it come from, and more importantly, who had placed it there? A word was written above it. _Meril_. An Elvish word? Was that the name of the flower? I would ask my mother tonight, for though I knew many Elvish words, this one was not familiar to me. I would bring the flower with me, for suddenly I knew who must have put it there. _My Elf, of course_. Then I stopped, apprehensive, for another thought had entered my mind: what if the village boys had finally come into the forest, discovered my copse and were now trying to trick me? But that thought was fleeting, dismissed as soon as it surfaced. The possibility of their having discovered this place was remote. No sign of disturbance lay anywhere to betray their invasion. I was aware of Brêg's destructive tendencies and knew he would not leave this place without ensuring all my treasures had been scattered or destroyed. I relaxed, settled myself against the tree which I had designated my "sitting room", and began to write.  
   
Hours passed and the afternoon wore on. Loath as I was to leave, I remembered Brethil's caution about leaving the forest well before twilight, so I tucked my book and writing implements away and set off home. After supper, I showed the flower to my mother and asked her of the name _meril_. She said she had heard of these flowers, but they were not native to our part of the world. She said they were cultivated by Elven-kings and were the fairest of all flowers. "In the common tongue, we would call it a 'rose'," she said.  
   
 _Rose_ , I thought. _Elven-kings? Is that where this 'rose' came from, the garden of the Elven-king of Mirkwood perhaps? If so, how is it that my Elf came to acquire it? And what did it signify?_ I felt more confused than ever. Even Brethil's words about learning patience added to the confusion. _When will it all come clear? Why have my dreams stopped? Will someone not help me?_ I went to bed, knowing less despite having learned more.


End file.
